


All is Fair in Love and Holy War

by macybon23



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blood and Violence, M/M, Post-Season/Series Finale, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24094918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macybon23/pseuds/macybon23
Summary: After Adam's reset of humanity, Aziraphale and Crowley are just getting back to their lives together. Past the trials by holy water and hellfire, they think they're out of the woods. Unfortunately for these two, Heaven and Hell have other plans.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	All is Fair in Love and Holy War

**Author's Note:**

> This was a story start I found in my notes and figured I should post it and try to continue it. So here we are.

Crowley stood in his flat in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink of hard liquor. Today had been a busy day with silly humans needing him to liven up their week with malicious minor pranks. Like the prideful businessman that had just laid off all his lowest employees, who received a scalding spill of coffee on his way home. Classic. Or the mother that had beaten her son for refusing to go fetch another case of beer from the garage for the drunken adults in the room, she found a skunk in her bedroom that night, meanwhile a neighbor watched the boy at her own house. All in a day's work. Humans could be so evil by themselves that it was almost easier just to play dirty tricks on the cruel ones to make the world a slightly better place. Only slightly. He was still a demon, after all. Couldn't do too much good, or else Aziraphale wouldn't have any work to do. The splash of scotch in his glass made the ice clink against it. The sound was one of his favorites because it meant that he would be feeling good soon. A rustle behind him made him whip to face the intruder.

"'ello, Crowley. Did ya miss me?" The color drained from his face. Not this again.

"Beezelbub," he said between gritted teeth. "What a pleasure."

The demon snarled, revealing rows of pointed teeth. "Not as much as I'm about to have." Before he could react, two demons bound his wrists in blessed cuffs, a gift from their archangel friends. It seared into his skin and drained him of his strength. He kicked and thrashed, but they were so much stronger than him in his weakened state. They dragged him toward the newly created portal, black as the void and just as empty. Hopeless, terrifying, darkness. A knot formed in his stomach at the thought of going back to his former headquarters. What were they planning to do with him down there, now that the trial had finished? Whatever it was, he was certain it wouldn't be good. He wished he could tell Aziraphale to run away before they came for him too, but now he could only hope that his friend was still safe.

\---

Back in his bookshop, Aziraphale was busy rearranging his tomes in the occult section to accommodate his recently acquired Agatha Nutter prophecy book. It was his new favorite casual read in his off time. But reading the next section would have to wait until after tomorrow, because he had a lunch date and afternoon dedicated to spending time with Crowley. He could hardly contain himself from running over to his apartment just to see him. But he could see him tomorrow, most definitely, and that kept him planted here. The kettle in the back room whistled a piercing cry, and he hurried to yank it off the stove. The fresh aroma of Earl Grey wafted to his nose, a warm and welcoming rainy day scent. A perfect pick me up.

He carried his cup and saucer into the reading lounge where he settled himself to do some bookkeeping. Although he rarely sold a book, he did still technically own a business, and as such a proper and current account book was necessary. There was a soothing aspect to figuring numbers, a sort of welcomed monotony in the way they always made sense in the end. Unlike feelings. Why did feelings have to make so little sense? In what truly sensible world did an angel and a demon become friends, or perhaps even, something more than friends? His focus strayed from the paper on his lap and he found himself gazing out the window longingly. Now that the apocalypse had passed, surely things would be easier. The trials had came and gone, with their little switcheroo saving them both from a real death. And now that the archangels and head demons were utterly lost at how they could have survived their punishments, they feared them something fierce. Which was a relief to Aziraphale. No longer did they have to live in fear of punishment for being who they were, an angel and a demon who appreciated spending time together. A sigh escaped his lips, and he gave up on finishing his accounting. It was merely a task to pass the time; if he wanted to, he could just miracle it into completion. But sometimes the manual way felt more satisfying than the automatic way. He rose from his seat with his empty tea cup in hand, intended for the kitchen sink. But something in his cup caught his attention. Once he had taken a fascination in the human interests of fortune telling, and attended a session or two with a fortune teller to pick up the skill. Reading tea leaves had seemed so silly a belief that he had almost ignored it, but a few strands of residual knowledge tugged at his consciousness. And if he was reading them correctly, things weren't looking very good for the near future. But it was all human malarkey anyways so he rinsed out the china and headed off to bed.

\---

Down in the depths of Hell, another slash of a whip across his face made Crowley cry out in pain. Deep slices crisscrossed his skin all over his physical body, complimented with burn marks from droplets of holy water. Another gift from their heavenly associates. Which meant that the angels despised him even more than the demons did, and wanted to demonstrate as such. A lowly demon approached him, slinking like a lizard on all fours.

"You don't detherve to live, traitor. We'll make thure of it," he said with a rapidly flicking tongue that seemed to have a mind of its own. Crowley hung from a chain anchored into the wall up behind him, holding his arms too high to defend himself from the blows of the whip and the spray of holy water. It sizzled against his skin with every minuscule impact, burning him alive little by little.

"Ssstop thisss," he begged, too weak to hold back his natural hiss. "Or I'll kill you all." The demon Sleucid (or Sleuthid, as he introduced himself) merely laughed at his threat.

"You wouldn't dare, unleth you want to bring harm to your angelic friend." Crowley's stomach dropped.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" he cried, straining against his burning cuffs to kill the bloody demon with his own two hands.

"I thee you have a thoft thpot for that no good wathte of wingth." Ever fiber of Crowley's being hummed with a rage unlike any seen before in Hell's domain. He would drown this whole place in holy water, killing himself in the process, if it meant keeping their grimy demon hands off his angel. As long as he lived he would make sure they never touched him.

"You wouldn't dare," he bluffed, seriously hoping the tremor in his voice would stay undetected.

"Watch me," said the nasty demon, slinking off into the darkness once more. Once he was sure he had left, Crowley let out a roar of pure murderous rage, hoping that someone would hear his unspoken prayer beneath all of the pain.

Please let nothing bad happen to my angel.

\---

Aziraphale checked his pocketwatch for the millionth time. Still no sign of his demon pal. It was now an hour past their agreed meeting time (well, the implied meeting time, since Crowley always showed up fifteen minutes fashionably late, anything beyond that was actually late, and Aziraphale had factored this into his originally planned time that they had agreed upon). It was very unlike him to be so incredibly late, despite his tardy tendencies. The waitress gave him a pitiful look as she cycled by again, asking if he was ready to order yet, already guessing that the answer was still no. He wanted to curl up into a ball and escape the pitiful glances from patrons and staff alike. This was absolutely humiliating! How dare Crowley pull something like this on him, the nerve! The demon he had thought he knew never would have...

He bolted upright. His demon wouldn't have done this. Which meant something was very much wrong.

With a snap of his fingers he miracled some money onto the table and fled from the restaurant, much to the alarm of the waitress. He didn't bother running like an incapable human, instead he miracled himself to the doorstep of Crowley's apartment. It was rightly the 666th flat in the complex, which made him smile a bit internally. But the alarming thing was the slightly ajar front door, something Crowley never would have left like that. His heart rate increased as he pushed open the door. Inside everything looked fairly orderly. To be honest, too orderly for Crowley's taste in housekeeping.

In the living room, a plant sat in its pot on the table, clearly have been toppled recently, telling from the spilled dirt on the table and the crease in its otherwise pristine leaves. Despite how the demon may have been fiercely dispassionate about many things, his plants and his Bentley were two that he was oppositely fiercely protective of. A stench of sulphur wafted to his nose, causing him to gag. He knew exactly who had done this. Demons.

"Crowley?" he called out timidly, hoping against hope that he would be in the other room just minding his own business, this whole thing having been a severe misunderstanding. But the demon was nowhere to be found, a glass of watered down scotch sitting abandoned on the kitchen counter.

\---

"Say those words and your angel goes unharmed."

"Never!" he spat, wincing still from the latest blow.

This new demon torturer stepped away from him. "Then watch as your beloved angel suffers a fate worse than yours, traitor." He pulled a jar of contained hellfire from his ragged robes, the flickering flames dancing in his black, soulless eyes. Hellfire was the only thing that could truly harm an angel, as holy water was the only way to kill a demon. And if the excruciating pain of the holy water spray were anything to go by, he would rather die a thousand times over than watch his angel endure that torture.

"Hold on," he whimpered. The demon pretended not to hear him and headed toward the doors. "I said bloody hold on!" he shouted. The demon, looking quite pleased with herself, stood with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I'm listening."

Crowley bit his lip, debating if he really wanted to go through with this. Once he started, there was no going back, not ever. He might never see his angel again in this form. There was no promise that he would still exist after this process. But it was the only way. He knew Hell and its rules and customs. They were ruthless, relentless, and completely devoid of true emotion or morals. If they wanted to do it, they would. At least this way maybe he could try to stop it.

"Okay I'll... I'll do it."

"You know what you have to say. So spit it out!"

Crowley took a deep breath before beginning the pledge. "I swear, on the name of our lord and ruler of the underworld, that I will fulfill my demonic obligation... to kill the angel Aziraphale by my own hand at the time of my master's desire."

"Finish it off."

"So help me Satan."

The demon's grating laughter filled his ears, along with a cacophony of awful grinding screeches and cries, the chorus of Hell's denizens rising in celebration. A portal opened up behind him and he was forcefully shoved back, back into darkness. This time, it was even more hostile than before.

\---

Aziraphale happened to be in the kitchen still when Crowley crashed through thin air into the living room, and quite ungracefully. A loud groan came from where the coffee table had once stood, a houseplant crushed beneath his limp frame.

"Crowley!" he exclaimed, running into the room, only to have his excitement quelled by the mess that was his best friend. Hair torn from the scalp, leaving gaping scarlet patches on his head. Clothes almost completely stripped away, bearing for the world the gouges in his skin. Tiny round burn marks marred his pale skin like stars in the sky, too numerous to count. And his eyes, oh his eyes, so empty and broken inside. The golden glow Aziraphale loved had been replaced by a dull bronze glint.

The angel reached out to touch the side of his face, but the demon flinched. "Please, st-stay away from me. I don't... I don't... I'm just going to hurt you," he whimpered. It broke his friend's heart to see the once confident demon curling into the fetal position in his presence.

"Shh, it's alright, my dear. You're not going to hurt me and I'm-"

"You don't understand!" he cried. "You need to run away, anywhere but here, please go home before they-"

"They? What in heaven are you going on about?"

"They-... they-..." He couldn't voice the secret oath aloud. Of course, a sacred agreement wouldn't have such an obvious loophole as being able to tell the target of the plan. He pounded his fist against the ground, crushing the verdant remains of his once beloved plant.

"Crowley you can tell me, I promise I'll believe you." But that was just it. If he couldn't tell him why he had to go away, he wouldn't, assuming it was just another of many attempts to push him away. And even if he did know the truth, the stupid angel wouldn't leave his side anyway, loyal and caring as he was. No, this was all going horribly wrong and no matter how much Crowley wished he could get Aziraphale as far away from this place as possible, what he really needed was his comforting embrace, and seeing as the angel wasn't going away any time soon, he might as well give in. His shoulders caved inward and so did his strength. The once cocky and confident demon now curled into his angel's arms in defeat. 


End file.
